


lessons in learning how to trust again

by thiefless



Series: Peta Parker [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Female Peter Parker, Loss of Powers, Multi, On Hiatus, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home Mid-Credits Scene, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/thiefless
Summary: “I'm alright. I mean, everyone knows who I am, I have no secret identity, I'velost my powers, but–” Peta bit her lip, inexplicably nervous. “I'm fine. I will be fine. Right, E?”Or: the one in which Spider-Man is very not fine indeed.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark
Series: Peta Parker [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608025
Comments: 65
Kudos: 254





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! It's me again. Finally managed to get around to writing this. I have the rest of the chapters planned, so there shouldn't be too much of a wait between them, but I'm not going to make any promises. I hope everyone is staying safe and happy. 
> 
> I'm planning on this having five chapters in total. This will probably be the last instalment in the Peta Parker series, and if you're new then welcome :) The first story can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219440/chapters/50518307). 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Let's get one thing straight: Peta Parker was not the type to hold record-breaking grudges. She just wasn't, okay? Probably something to do with her whole _with great power comes great responsibility_ thing, and prowling around with a giant chip on her shoulder was not exactly conducive to superheroics. 

(Unless, of course, the recipient of said life-altering grudge was herself. But, more on that later.)

In any case – Peta could forgive the Avengers their transgressions. She could forgive Happy and Rhodey, and Mrs. Potts and Mr. Stark all in equal measure. She didn't discriminate. Forgiveness was a powerful tool, and she had long since mastered the art of wielding it. Mr. Stark would be proud; he'd taught her well. 

Aunt May was of the opinion that she was letting them all off excruciatingly lightly – and Peta knew for a fact that May had only recently started dating Happy again. Her aunt was a force to be reckoned with; part of Peta relished in her fierce loyalty.

It'd been three months since Prague, since Berlin, since London. Since: _Spider-Man's name is–_

Anyway. 

Point was: it was all in the past. No use digging up the skeletons in Peta's closet. Once she started down that slippery slope, she'd never stop. 

In the wake of the false accusation of mass murder against her, Mrs. Potts had assembled an entourage of blood lusted lawyers ready to defend Peta's honour, having prepared to sue J. Jonah Jameson and the rest of the _Daily Bugle_ for defamation. The process was lengthy, and ongoing, and Peta had only just started feeling comfortable stepping outside on her own. Still. It was progress.

Silver lining: at least she didn't have to contend with Midtown's reaction and having to see her classmates – see _Flash_ – as she continued to deal with the fallout. 

Today marked the day when the ban on Spider-Man would finally be lifted – Spider-Man would be allowed to resume friendly neighbourhood extracurricular activities. Peta, for one, couldn't wait. 

Really. 

In the interim, the Avengers had been helping her. Teaching her. Getting to know her – and getting to know her double life. Apologies cloyed their actions, dominated their thoughts; Peta could read it in all their faces. Happy's face was a picture-perfect personification of guilt.

Morgan was the only one who didn't let Spider-Man's revelation faze her. 

(Mr. Stark entrusted E.D.I.T.H. to Peta, upgrading her into the new and improved suit. See: guilt.)

The apologies weren't all uncomfortably repentant; they weren't all utterly consumed by regret. Thor's apology had been jovial: “What is this, a group apology?” The God of Thunder had cleared his throat dramatically. “I hereby do offer my sincere condolences, little eight-legged insect.”

Bruce, in turn, facepalmed. “Arachnid. Spiders are _arachnids_ ,” he stressed. Peta watched for signs of The Big Green One. “Insects have six-legs, Thor. Six legs.”

Thor nodded in earnest gravitas. “Ah, yes of course.” He frowned, turning to his companion for apparent guidance. “Should I repeat my declaration?”

This time, Bruce's facepalm was noticeably audible. Peta had to bite her lip to suppress her giggles. 

In contrast, Bruce's was reserved. “I know a little something about having to hide your other half. I'm sorry you felt like you had to.”

Maybe Spider-Man had more in common with the Hulk than previously believed. 

Peta often wondered what her own apology would sound like. Didn’t she owe the state of Washington some kind of justification?

_I'm sorry I couldn't tell you my identity. I'm sorry that I didn't trust you with who I was. I'm sorry that, when I did trust someone, I trusted wrong. I'm sorry for breathing, I'm sorry for helping others. I'm sorry that I was doing the job of NYPD all on my own._

... Yeah. She didn't need to be Mrs. Potts to understand why that wouldn't be prudent.

Anyhow, she was – fine. Totally fine. Why the hell wouldn't she be? She was the reigning monarch of Fine. Nothing could bring her down. Not even–

Nothing. 

Yet... sometimes, she felt like. Like, she was just– building a life on quicksand, and then wondering why it all came crumbling down. 

So, if sometimes, she had intrusive thoughts about swinging, flying, falling; then it was all just par for the course. Wasn't every superhero messed up in their own unique little way?

It had a name, this phenomenon of hers: _l'appel du vide_ – the call of the void. 

Donning the Spider-Man suit she and Mr. Stark had composed together way back when, Peta took off into the dusky New York night. It was the first time she'd worn the red-and-black suit since–

It was taking a little getting used to. Exercising old spider-powered muscles. That was all. 

All in all, it was a productive patrol. She stopped a would-be-mugger, rescued ten individual cats from eight separate trees – two of them were engaging in some kind of climatic battle on the tree tops; a feline Anakin v. Obi-Wan duel – and gave a nice old man directions to the nearest subway. It was good. 

(Wait, no. Not good. It was definitely _something_. Just... not good.) 

The trouble arose on the journey back home, as it was wont to do. The law of averages at work once again, meddling in Spider-Man's affairs. 

Peta was just scaling a wall, something she'd done a million times before, and would most likely do a million more times. Electrostatic force was a beauty to behold, as her gloved fingers and toes stuck to the brick like superglue. 

And then. Well, _then_ something happened that had never happened before; something Peta was under the horrifically misguided opinion could _never_ happen:

Peta fell. 

Panic seized her flightless body. Haphazardly grappling at the unforgiving structure, she was able to restick for a grand total of two seconds before her powers unanimously decided to declare their independence from her, and she resumed her cruel descent to the ground below.

Straight into a dumpster. 

(Parker Luck was out to get her this time, no joke.)

“Ow, ow, ow,” Peta moaned, hand tenderly touching the growing bump. She hissed at the contact. “What the hell happened?” The whole world was blurry. Fuck. Concussion it was, then. 

E.D.I.T.H. was uncharacteristically silent. Mr. Stark had programmed the A.I. to operate on a quiet setting after she had tentatively revealed how jarring normal volume was to her senses. 

But – Peta had to turn E.D.I.T.H. up to be able to hear. Like a normal, non-spider-powered person. 

What the hell happened to her?

The explanation went along the lines of this: 

“If I may, Peta,” E.D.I.T.H. interjected. “I believe your brain has associated Spider-Man with negative emotions associated with your residual trauma, and is protecting you from feeling those the only way it knows how.”

Dread consumed her. “What are you saying, E?” Peta's voice was little more than a wisp of air. 

E.D.I.T.H. paused. “Your brain believes Spider-Man is a problem – so it has blocked you from ever being Spider-Man again.”

 _Newsflash: Peta was screwed_. 

Because Spider-Man's arch-enemy was first and foremost Peta Parker. Nobody could wound Spider-Man like Peta could, a fact Peta exploited every chance she could.

This was about Peta defeating _Peta_. 

And, in her greatest hour of need, even Spider-Man had deserted her.


	2. Everything is Fine!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am so sorry it's taken me so long to update. I literally have no excuse. I'm not 100% happy with how this turned out, but I need to stop messing with it at this point.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! :)

Previously in _The Life and Times of Peta Parker, AKA – The Amazing Spider-Man:_

See, Peta's life was okay. For once. 

Except for this one, tiny thing. It was a snag, really. Tiny snag.

To cut a long story short: Peta had kind of... _lost her powers_. No big deal, really. She was completely fine with it. 

“What the f–?”

Yep. Completely. Totally. 100%. _Fine_.

(All things considered.)

And, she was keeping up appearances. Never let it be said Peta Parker was not a master at successful multi-tasking. Seriously. Someone should write a book.

Oh, God. A psychosomatic block. She had a giant _freaking_ Spider-Man shaped psychosomatic block on her powers. Her _Spider-Man_ powers.

The human brain truly was a miraculous concept. Under normal circumstances – in other words: if this were happening to literally _anybody_ else – Peta would be geeking out at just how cool the brain was. Thing was, she was a little preoccupied with just how exactly she was going to survive with this monumental fuck-up to admire her brain. 

“I'm alright. I mean, everyone knows who I am, I have no secret identity, I've _lost my powers_ , but–” Peta bit her lip, inexplicably nervous. “I'm fine. I will be fine. Right, E?”

“No, Peta,” E.D.I.T.H. responded in Mr. Stark's pre-programmed dry tones. “You are not fine.”

_Well. So much for a show of artificial support. Thanks, E._

Considering it was technically kind of E.D.I.T.H.'s fault Peta was even in this whole mess, a little comfort would have been nice. That was all Peta was saying.

Regardless, Peta didn't need help. If she couldn't get it from an A.I., she couldn't get it from a homo sapiens – and, anyway, she didn't want it. She was managing perfectly well on her own.

Such a pity E.D.I.T.H. didn't share her ignorant optimism. 

“Might I suggest calling Mr. Star–”

“No!” Peta cut off abruptly, tone sharp and eyes wild. “No,” she repeated, a tad calmer. “What did I just say? I'm fine. And, anyway, if there's anything I'm good at, it's getting out of tricky situations.” Just look at Spider-Man's Wikipedia page. 

E.D.I.T.H.'s reply, when it came, was unfairly smug: “So, you admit this is a tricky situation.”

Peta had to give her that one: “Smartass.” She hauled her body up with limbs that took longer to comply than she was used to, in a suit that was no longer adjusted for her every need, could no longer cater to the demands her disgustingly debilitated body made of it. 

And then, of course, because her life was just a secession of consecutive shitshows, she promptly fell over.

On her ass.

...okay, so she was still finding her literal and metaphorical footing. Whatever. 

By the way, Wade – _oh, Wade_ – he was absolutely no help whatsoever: 

“Just be thankful The Author™ has decided to exclude the events of _Infinity War_ and _Endgame_ from this narrative,” he said, shuddering. 

“What?”

“Exactly.”

Cheers, Deadpool. Very much appreciated. She didn't want she expected, to be honest. 

Whelp. As of right now, Peta was #caughtinaweb, with no hope of release. A wingless fly, buzzing into the window – a nuisance. Pathetic.

~

Despite Wade's crappy consoling advice, he did help her home after her spectacular fall from grace, taking care of her when her own body was lacking. 

But. First things first: Peta needed to see. Fix her eyesight. In the absence of her spidery powers, her vision reverted back to its previous myopic setting, much to her misfortune. 

Thankfully, Mr. Stark had already given her a pair of glasses. Sure, they were A.I. controlled, not-at-all-for-short-sightedness – but with a little tinkering, Peta reckoned she could figure it out.

Like she told E.D.I.T.H.: she was the master in getting herself out of tricky situations.

Lenses worked by manipulating how light entered the retina. Correct? Yeah, correct. Therefore, by controlling the direction the light rays, she could 

There, see? Eye science. Crash course in ophthalmology 101.

“Okay,” she said, concluding the experiment, slightly manic grin stretching her face. “Looks like we've sorted this out.”

“Congratulations, Peta,” E.D.I.T.H. noted monotonously. It didn't escaped her notice that the A.I. hadn't brought up Mr. Stark's name.

Small mercies.

~

Peta's mind was sludge, and she was wading through thick, unforgiving tar desperately trying to make sense of a world that had no use for her. Just trying to get from one day to the next; a second at a time, as the clouding of consciousness reaped what it sowed.

A perfect storm – that's all she was. Optimal conditions, primed for catastrophic self-destruction. 

Because, what Beck did to her? It was nasty. Cruel, even. 

(Didn't she deserve nasty and cruel?)

And, she was starting to think – maybe, like Wade, she had a genetic mutation of her own. Something that went way beyond whatever crackpot science led Norman Osborne to tamper with the biology of a spider. Maybe Peta was cursed in her own right. Peta thought: _I am a mutant. A mutant whose superpower is bringing death and destruction down upon those I love._

Why the hell shouldn't she believe it? Everyone around her dropped like flies. 

Time to break it down. Disregard the emotion, and put her science head on. 

Hypothesis: Peta was cursed to cause harm to those around her. 

Evidence: Her parents – plane crash. Her uncle – a murder Peta wad indirectly involved in. Countless civilians in London, Prague, Berlin. Never mind the residents of Queens, who were probably doing just fine before she anointed herself their saviour. Sure, they suffered regular bouts of petty crime, and some serious crime, but wasn't that better than the alternative? Better than a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man who fucked it all up regardless. 

Answer: No. Quentin Beck wasn't the one with the hero complex.

Peta was.

Just look at all those who had died as a result of her hubris. It was only a matter of time before she snatched away another piece of her family. Or maybe Morgan would be the next victim, just for daring to trust and believe in her.

(Peta wanted to hurl.)

Spider-Man had been her magnum opus, and now her not-so-secret-anymore alter-ego was relegated to becoming her swan song – a relic of an age when she was _good_. When she was _fine_. Scratch that: more than fine. Glorious. 

Peta had been glorious. 

And now... now she was unrecognisable. Beck had destroyed her beyond all recognition. Peta could not remember the last time she had looked at herself in the mirror; she couldn't bare the haunting mirage judging her for all her crimes.

(God, sometimes she wondered what the fuck anyone saw in her. MJ deserved far more than a pathetic excuse for a superhero.)

So. Voila!

Peta was so screwed right now.

~

Happy and May staged some kind of faux intervention the following morning. 

Breakfast was a tense affair. At least, that was how it came across to Peta. But, you know, she could be projecting. 

She had something of a proclivity for that.

“How was patrol last night, baby?” May asked in a conditioned, calm tone, nails raking through Peta's hair affectionately as she sat down to eat the cereal Happy had non-suspiciously already prepared for her.

Clearly _this_ was the new normal.

Shock was still colouring her senses, clouding her judgement. The fact that she wasn't actively freaking out about losing a very major part of her spoke volumes of her poor mental state, Peta wasn't deranged enough to know that. 

It just – hadn't sunk in yet. That she was too far gone for help. That she couldn't be a superhero anymore. 

Everything could just fall by the wayside, as far as she was concerned. Peta just want to _yeet_ her insecurities OUT of her life. Far, far away from her and those she loved. 

But – and this was the truly hysterical part - she couldn't. Because they weren't just abstract conceptions that occasionally messed with her sleep schedule and wreaked havoc on her anxiety levels; no, now they were physical. Concrete. Psychosomatic. _Now_ , they had taken the one, viable thing that could defend her: her powers. Her superhuman strength, her enhanced senses, her split-second precognition. 

Now... she was useless. Worse than useless.

Dead weight. 

How – how the hell could she recover from something like this?

(More to the point: did she even deserve to?)

“It was good, thanks,” was the only response Peta could muster.

“Not too many muggers?” May coaxed gently. Even with her senses now refusing to cooperate, Peta didn't miss the concerned glance shared between May and Happy at her lacklustre attitude. 

So, Peta did her best to don a mask of make-believe confidence. Take a page out of Mr. Stark's book. 

She flashed a grin that she hoped wasn't too fake, and simply narrated: “No. It was good. I, uh, stopped a mugger mid-mugging, rescued ten cats, and gave an old man directions.” Zero mention of what occurred _after_. Well done, Peta. 

May smiled – though Peta caught how her smile tightened after Peta mentioned the mugger, the reminder of, _Catching criminals is not my responsibility–_ polluting the atmosphere. 

God. Peta really was no better than a common delinquent. 

Nevertheless, May was the first to congratulate her on a patrol well done, drawing her out of her depressive reverie.

Happy cleared his throat. “You trying to be like Tony, kid?” he asked, teasing, gesturing to E.D.I.T.H.

“I, uh, yeah. I just–” she floundered. “It makes me feel safe.” Sadly, that wasn't too far out of the realm of reality.

If anything, Peta's reply deepened the frown lines of Happy's face, and she didn't need a Spidey Sense to know that May was mimicking the expression. All because of this stupid, ridiculous, irresponsible position _Peta_ had put _herself_ in and– and–

–and Peta was seriously running out of synonyms to appropriately convey just how screwed she was, which was probably a sign that she was beyond even the limits of the English language.

 _The self-pity is strong with this one_ , Peta imagined Darth Vader saying as he aimed to take her out. 

Quick. Back to the more delicate, pressing matter at hand. 

“What time are you going to work?” Peta deflected, a terrible attempt at casual that most likely fell flat.

May glanced at her watch. “In about ten minutes.” She turned to Happy. “Would you mind...?”

Happy adorned a sickly-sweet expression, eyes softening as he glanced towards May. It made Peta vaguely nauseous. Seeing anyone – but especially her _aunt_ – in love always made her gut coil. “Sure. I'll give you a lift.” He turned to Peta. “Will you be okay on your own for a couple hours, kid?”

Peta bristled despite herself. “I'll be fine.” Because she was. Fine.

Happy backed off at the frost in her tone, chastised, and Peta felt shame colour her cheeks. Stubbornness reigned in the impulse to apologise, though. 

“I'll see you soon, baby,” May whispered, kissing her forehead in an exaggerated fashion that never failed to leave Peta with a grin. “Don't worry.”

 _Yeah_ , Peta thought dejectedly. _Bit too late for that._

~

MJ and Ned took it upon themselves to get an invite into her house while May and Happy were working, correctly guessing that Peta shouldn't be alone for the duration of the day.

(It probably should have freaked Peta out at how attuned they all were to each other. But, in that moment, all she could feel was gratitude.)

Overly-enthusiastic Ned: “Hey, Peta. I brought reinforcements!” He brandished a ten thousand LEGO Spider-Man set, cajoling a promise out of Peta to help build it with him.

Dry, sarcastic MJ: “Hey, loser.” But her eyes were smiling, and her tone was warm, and butterflies instantly flooded her stomach, threatening to send her already-weakened system into haywire. 

God. She loved the both of them with all the might of Thor. 

“Nice glasses,” Ned said. “You wearing E.D.I.T.H. around the house now?”

Peta chuckled weakly. She could feel MJ's probing gaze bury deep beneath her epidermis, searching for the truth written on her too-frail skin. 

“Who wants a drink?” Peta proffered, hastily diverting their attention to something other than her misfortune. 

Ned accepted heartily. MJ gave her a piercing look, yet otherwise begrudgingly took Peta up on her offer. 

In no time at all, they had set up shop in Peta's bedroom, that had long since been adorned with fancy, high-tech improvements courtesy of the Avengers (cough: Mr. Stark). MJ raised a cursory eyebrow, and Peta wondered for about half a second whether she was about to receive a lecture on the abysmal consequences of indulging in capitalism, but all MJ did was glance back at her and smile once, and Peta smiled back.

What could she say? She was a sucker for a cute girl. Particularly one she was in lo–

Too much information. 

With that in mind, perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise, when, in the midst of building the LEGO set Ned had generously purchased for them, Peta ended up spilling a half-truthful symphony of just how far she had fucked up her life recently. Minus all the losing Spider-Man stuff. 

Some things just had to stay secret, y'know?

“Peta,” MJ murmured once Peta paused to inhale much-needed oxygen, fondness lacing her tone. “Stop. Catastrophizing. Everything.”

“But what if I–”

“Nope.”

Peta's leg refused to stop bouncing, jolting at the warm press of MJ's palm on her jean-clad knee. Brown eyes on brown eyes, the entire world whittling away, chip by chip, until MJ was the only person; just Peta and MJ. 

“Did Luke give up when he realised Darth Vader was his father? Nope. He trained with Master Yoda until he got better.”

Ah, yes, that's right. Peta, MJ – and Ned. 

“We were having a moment, dork.” MJ retracted her hand. Even without the enhanced senses, Peta immediately felt the cold absence. “You just ruined it.”

Ned shrugged. “I refuse to be a third wheel. Besides, when I get a girlfriend, you can do the same to me.”

MJ frowned. “But you won't ever get a girlfriend.”

At Ned's outraged expression, Peta stifled giggles in the palm of her hand. 

“That is rude,” Ned stated, an air of flimsy authority decorating his tone, “and mean, and I cannot believe we are friends.”

MJ nodded, astute. “Sucks.”

This was the moment Peta adopted the referee persona – a second skin more worthy than her spidery alter ego. “Okay, Ned, MJ,” she said around a smile at their antics. “That's enough. I cannot have my girlfriend and my best friend fighting each other.”

Ned rolled his eyes but otherwise acquiesced, redirecting his concentration solely to building LEGO Spider-Man. MJ, on the other hand, stared at her a beat too long, only looking away when Peta caught her gaze.

It was only later, when Ned had sent himself home with the newly-finished LEGO set, that MJ felt safe enough to bring it back up:

“You.” MJ cleared her throat, looked down at her shoes momentarily. Gathering her strength for when she lifted her head. “Called me your girlfriend earlier.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peta said, a nervous laugh following her affirmation. Oh. Crap. Did Peta just take it upon herself to pre-empt their relationship? Should she not have done so? _Was she overthinking?_ “Was that– is it, I mean– okay?”

Her heart pounded in her ear – as loud as it had ever been, as loud as it was when she still had her powers – as she awaited MJ's answer. She wished she were brave enough to look her maybe-girlfriend in the eye, but that was just wishful thinking. Very few things in life mattered to her as much as MJ's verdict in this fragment of a moment. 

Peta's hand jolted – Spidey Sense null and void in this new age – at the feel of MJ's fingers interlacing with her own. 

“Yeah,” came MJ's answer, raspy.

Peta squeezed her hand – and for those few blissful, precious seconds, she didn't have a care in the world.

~

A couple days after her disastrous grand return, Peta was invited to the Stark's lake house. Y'know, the super-secret lake house she was invited to shortly before her entire life went to shit. 

Good times.

Every single member of the Avengers was there – Peta was half-surprised that the _real_ Nick Fury wasn't there to complete the set. She had to resist the incredibly strong urge to _Nope!_ on out of there, but the lake house was smack in the middle of nowhere and she probably couldn't contend with the other super-human superheroes residing in the lake house.

In other words: Peta was trapped. 

Just like with Toomes.

Just like with little Morgan and Stark Industries.

Just like with Beck. 

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark said, greeting her as she walked up to the front porch, a step behind May and Happy. In the background, Mrs. Potts welcomed the others.

Peta managed a light smile, eyes darting nervously from the cautious expression decorating his face. “Hey, Mr. Stark.” For a horrifying moment, she wondered whether he could read all the things she refused to say in her face. But that was crazy, right? Telepathy was never a part of Iron Man's skill set.

...right?

Regardless, she had little time to dwell on the implications of such a power, before she was under attack by her favourite five-year-old who had taken it upon herself to catapult her frame into Peta's noticeably less bulky one. 

“Hey there, Baby Stark,” Peta said fondly, grin stretching her mouth of its own accord. She knelt down. “How have you been since I saw you last?”

Little Morgan Stark's face lightened up. “I've been good. Daddy says that I could be a professional LEGO builder if I want to be.” Her face turned mischievous “I'm even better than you.”

Peta chuckled, her own problems dissipating the longer she spent talking to the girl she maybe, possibly viewed as a sister. “Well, now, I gotta go and see it. My honour is at stake.”

Morgan giggled. “Okay!” she exclaimed triumphantly, dashing away.

The rest of the party soon made themselves at home, Peta greeting the Avengers weakly, hiding behind May and Happy, and Morgan and even Mr. Stark. The latter of which noticed her apparent nervousness, pulling her to one side:

“How.” Mr. Stark cleared his throat, awkward. “How are you – doing, kid? You good?”

Well. At this point in time, Peta was just going through the motions. That's all she trusted herself to do – well, that and sauntering around Queens with a big 'ol chip on her shoulder when she had the energy for it. 

God. She was just so... _angry_. All. The. Time. At everything; at everyone. 

That anger made her afraid. Made it so she couldn't even close her eyes without reliving her worst nightmares in the phosphenes of her eyelids.

Ergo: she didn't trust anyone. Not even herself.

(What an amazing system she'd perfected.)

Happy was starting to notice. May was starting to worry. Peta began withdrawing from those she loved before they got caught in the crossfire. 

With that in mind: “Everything's fine,” Peta stuttered, the biggest smile known to man splitting her face in half. “Great. _Perfect_. Why'd you ask?”

Mr. Stark side-eyed her. Even Morgan had discarded the LEGO bricks she'd collected to unabashedly witness Peta's decomposition.

“I’m just checking in,” he answered after an uncomfortable beat; faint smile curving the corner of his lips. “Making sure you're all right. After what happened...”

“Oh, I'm completely fine. Just completely– just completely over it,” she cut off, refusing to allow the manic grin to slip away into the night. It was the only thing she could control in a world that was determined to strip her of her power.

Mr. Stark remained unconvinced, yet dropped the subject for the time being. Peta had to fight to keep from audibly sighing her relief. 

“So,” Sam said, daring to break the awkward silence. He flashed her an encouraging smile. “You're back out there patrolling. Enjoying it?”

Peta's smile tightened. Her muscles involuntarily clenched – a n automatic reflex, and one she was currently working on reconfiguring. Mr. Stark's bemused expression at her reaction burned into her memory processes. 

“Yeah,” she decided, eyes flickering away from Mr. Stark's mental analysis. Breathing through the lie, she added, “It's good – to be back out there, I mean.” Maybe if she said it enough times, it'd finally stick. Repetition was key, after all. Rhetoric worked for a reason. 

She shifted on the balls of her feet. “Though, I was thinking about easing back in. Taking it slow, y'know. Not doing so many hours, not going about every day...” she tapered off like the end of one of those really old songs.

Well. She lasted two seconds before revealing just how _fine_ she was. Gotta be some Olympic Record, right?

“So, Spider-Kid,” Bucky said, friendly smile curving his lips. “Who was the very first person you told about your identity? C'mon, don't be shy now. We've all let things slip from time to time.”

 _“Speak for yourself,”_ someone hissed, too low for Peta to catch.

Amused, Peta recounted the moment someone clocked on to her spider identity. 

“You told Ned?” Incredulity coloured May's tone, mixed in with a little... hurt?

“Hey.” Peta wagged a finger at May. “ _You_ let him up to my room when I was doing patrol.”

Clint shrugged. “You could've said you were 'cosplaying'.”

Peta was doing well in ignoring why Hawkeye knew what cosplaying was. “I was crawling on the ceiling. You kind of can't come back from that.”

She could hear the others barely refrain from laughing at her old predicament. “I bet that wasn't a fun conversation.”

The memory caused her to wince. “It wasn't really a conversation. The Death Star shattered into a million pieces, I had to try and deny but I am apparently a terrible liar.”

The Avengers each chuckled at her misfortune. 

Morosely, she added, “That was a thousand-piece LEGO set as well.” It harkened back to simpler times.

It wasn't until the others all turned their gazes towards her that she swallowed, faces displaying various expectant questions that Peta realised the attention was once again on her.

“What's the biggest thing you can lift, Peta?”

“Uh.” Oh, no. Fuck. May was here. And Mr. Stark. And Happy. She couldn't just say it out loud, in front of them like it was nothing, right? 

“Hey, Spidey,” Sam said. “You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

Clint scoffed. “Speak for yourself, man. I, myself, am capable of performing many great feats. Like, for instance, stopping a moving helicopter from taking off.”

Someone groaned. Probably Steve. “Shove off, Barton.”

Chuckles lightened the mood momentarily, and for one brief moment Peta hoped that everyone would forget her non-existent reply. 

Alas, Morgan's _'I'm waiting_ ' pout rendered that luck null and void.

“How many buses worth,” little Ms. Stark prodded. “Or cars. How many cars can you lift?”

“Uh. I dunno.” That honestly was the truth. “'S not like I go out testing it or anything.”

Morgan scrunched her face. It was doubtless one of the cutest things Peta'd seen. “I think you should. Like a science experiment. Like, a How Many Tons Can Peta Lift.” She giggled at the end, as though she'd just invented the greatest thing of this century.

“Come on,” the others parroted, all iterations of the same sentiment. “Just give us a rough estimate.”

Peta cast a discreet sidelong glance at May, and another at Mr. Stark, before reluctantly revealing one of the worst events of her life: fifteen-year-old her, a Homecoming dance, and her date's father.

Super fun.

Figuring it would be best to just babble her way through the painful walk down memory lane, she paraphrased through the backstory – right up until the second where the Vulture imprisoned her under a goddamn building.

“...and I'm just theorising here, I don't actually know how heavy it was.” Peta steeled her nerves. “Around fifty tons.”

“Did you just.” The audible click of May's jaw was noticeable even to Peta's non-enhanced senses. She winced at the assault on her ears. “Say _fifty tons?_ As in: you lifted a _fifty-ton building_ – and then, what?” Hysteria bubbled within her aunt's tone.

Apprehension tied Peta's tongue in knots; a shoelace of disjointed errors.

Peta tried to play it cool. “No.” _That would be preposterous. Absurd. Completely and utterly delusional._ Yeah, her cavalier attitude didn't quite work. “First I had a panic attack, and _then_ I lifted it off.”

Speaking of panic attacks – her aunt was doing a spectacular job at quelling hers. “Well,” May finally said. “Did you manage to catch the villain after the building?”

“Um.”

May's tone was a force to be reckoned with, all strained reproachfulness mixed with parental disappointment. “ _Peta_. Please, please tell me you didn't go chasing after a villain who tried to _crush you to death_ without even checking yourself out for injuries.”

“...Um.”

May threw her hands up in an undignified explosion, gesticulating wildly. She made a noise of giving up, reverberating around Peta's enhanced senses. 

Peta flinched. 

Peta could pinpoint the exact moment Mr. Stark clocked on. The way his furrowed brows gave way as bitter understanding dawned on his face, before darkening once more as the implications settled. Mr. Stark pressed his lips in a firm line, crow's feet poignant. Peta could feel the weight of that stare burn her skull. 

“Yeah” she followed up awkwardly. “I didn't really fight him. I more defeated him through resilience until he eventually gave up and accepted that I wasn't going anywhere.”

Nobody really knew what to say. The rest of the day passed in a blur. It wouldn't be a stretch to state that Peta dissociated through most of it, unable to recall even a single thing from that point on. Trapped in a memory; trapped in _several_ memories.

The time soon came for Peta and May to bid them farewell. Mr. Stark and Mrs. Potts had graciously offered to host them overnight, but Peta kindly refused. She'd been having these... nightmares. Since, _Spider-Man's name is–_ and, combined with the added stress and drama of losing her connection to Spider-Man, Peta possibly wasn't as _fine_ as she made out to be. At home, she could handle it; keep it under wraps. May slept like the dead, and Happy snored vicariously whenever he stayed the night. Even with that, Peta had grown accustomed to muffling her cries of terror into a pillow. A change in scenery would do more harm than good. Plus, there was the additional threat that her new secret would be found out. And she couldn't have that. Her life was _just_ starting to make sense again; her stupid anxieties and stupid Spider-Man would not ruin it for her.

She had it under control. Seriously.

~

Seriously.

Everything was going to be just F I N E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think! :)


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